Beauxbatons Academy
by heggyy
Summary: Harry Potter goes on an exchange to Beauxbatons Academy! But something isn't as it seems...
1. Chapter 1

"I hope that you will take this excellent opportunity to create international bonds as well as improve your cultural experience. It is a great chance to see new things and find out about other witches and wizards in the wider community. I expect you all to sign up – it is open to all fifth years and it will last the duration of you Christmas holidays. The partnered school is Beauxbatons academy and we will travel there by coach."

Harry glanced at Hermione. How were they going to travel to France in a coach? Hermione looked unperturbed, and continued to stare at Professor McGonagall as if breaking eye contact would result in a long and painful death.

"The trip is free, however next Christmas the exchanges will be returning to Hogwarts, so you must be available and hospitable then. There will be a sign-up sheet in each Common room, so anybody who would like to register interest must sign their name before the end of this week. Any questions see you head of house. Now off to lessons."

There was a great scraping of benches as the entirety of fifth year hurried to the entrance.

Hermione turned to Ron and Harry, beaming. "It's going to be an incredible opportunity. I mean my French isn't that good. Well I have lived in France for a couple of years when I was little, but it's going to be so interesting to experience it from the magical point of view." Hermione paused for breath. "I'm just going to the library. Meet you in Charms." And she rushed off, making a beeline for the library.

Ron stared apprehensively as she hurried off.

"I'm going to sign up. The trips free so why you wouldn't want to go..." He trailed off, glancing at Harry. "Are you?"  
>"Can't," Harry replied, trying not to reveal how badly he had wanted to go. "Can you imagine the Dursley's accepting a French exchange next Christmas?"<p>

A shadow of guilt flittered across Ron's face. "But you can have your exchange at Hogwarts over Christmas? Or you can bring them over to my house." Ron looked triumphant. "You can bring your exchange to stay at our house for Christmas!"

For a moment Harry's spirits were lifted, but then he remembered. "I had better ask Professor McGonagall," he said glumly. He walked up to her slowly, a lead weight pushing down on his heart.

"Professor?" he asked quietly. "I can't take the exchange back to my Uncle's house. He won't allow it. But Ron says he's very happy for my exchange to stay at his house over Christmas..."

Professor McGonagall regarded him with a sorrowful smile.

"Sorry Potter, the rules are there for a reason."

"What about my Godfather's house?" Harry asked wildly. His godfather was Sirius Black, a man believed guilty of murder, but who was actually innocent. He lived in London, and his house was the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, but it was worth a shot.

"I don't think that's appropriate Potter." Professor McGonagall said grimly. "I know the rules look unfair, and often discriminate against the people they are supposed to protect, but there's nothing I can do. Sorry." Professor McGonagall looked rather sad. "Off to lessons now."

Harry walked out of the Great Hall with a heavy heart. Ron, who had lagged behind to wait for him, looked at him questioningly. He shook his head, and they walked to Divination together in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

"Please turn to Chapter 6 of your books!" Professor Trelawney said, breathing heavily. "Today we will be doing dream diaries."

Harry stared at his hands. The heat was only making the thick tears heavier in his eyes, and he couldn't cry here, in front of everyone.

"Pair up and one of you describes your dream. The other can help understand what it means, using pages 106 to 118 in your books," Trelawney continued, drifting past, her bangles clinking and thick robes rustling.

Harry used the excuse to bend into his bag for a few moments, taking a few more deep breaths until the tears had cleared and his head felt lighter again. When he sat back up again, Ron was leafing through his book. Harry suspected that he was just trying to fill the silence, but he was grateful.

"You wanna start?" Ron said eventually, when he found the right page. Around him Harry could hear Neville recounting a long tale about his toad, Trevor, eating all the toilet roll that had mysteriously stacked up under Neville's bed. Harry caught Ron's eye and they smiled a little.

"You go first." Harry said, sighing and flicking through his book.

"Well just last night I had a dream that we had to do this stupid dream diary. It was more of a nightmare actually." Ron muttered.

Harry laughed slightly forcibly, but Ron relaxed, and Harry was glad to break the tension. Professor Trelawney, hearing the sound of happiness, swooped over and plucked up Harry's hand.

"I wouldn't laugh my boy! Your life will be short and painful! I have consulted my inner eye and your palm only confirms what I first feared!"

Harry tried to not to roll his eyes and snatch his hand away. He was not in the mood for this. Finally the lesson ended and they could escape to the fresh air of Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid was late to the lesson, hurrying out of the forest after the class had been loitering around his cabin for ten minutes. He had a large bruise on his cheek and his lip was bleeding.

"Hagrid?" Hermione called out anxiously, hurrying to meet him. Up to then it had been an awkward ten minutes, the trio standing in near silence listening to their classmates chatter around them.

Hagrid just brushed her concerns away. "Don't worry about me. Today we're going to do something really exciting! Something I've been saving for when you're a bit more mature you know?" He started striding towards the lake, and Harry had to jog to keep up with him. The rest of the Gryffindors followed on less enthusiastically, and the Slytherins trailed on at the back, muttering mutinously. Hagrid stopped by the lake side. The stormy grey water lapped against the shore side, bringing back memories of the Triwizard Tournament, just last year.

"We're always working round the forest or in the forest," Hagrid said, "So I thought for a treat we could work with something a bit different. Farkels."

Hermione grinned.

"Now does anyone know what they are?"

"Farkels are aquatic creatures often indistinguishable from fish. They are electric blue in colour and slightly larger than the average trout, found in fresh water lakes. They eat coral and small fish and can be tempted by mint or any fish. However they can be very dangerous, with teeth sharp enough to bite of your hand." She blurted, not even waiting for Hagrid to say her name.

Hagrid beamed. "Very good Hermione. Twenty points to Gryffindor! Now I want you to grab some gloves from the tray and get some of the minnows," he gestured a massive hand towards a large bucket of minnows, near which lay some very thick dragon hide gloves. "Pair up and try and bait the farkels."

There was a shuffle as people paired up. Harry glanced at Ron, who grinned sheepishly and grabbed some gloves. Harry slipped them on before trying to pick up a slippery minnow between his finger and thumb.

Harry hardly had time to remember the exchange; the lesson was so hands on. There were general shouts and splashes as the people started seeing the farkels, who were bright blue, just as Hermione had said. Then Neville fell in, slipping off a rock into the deeper part of the lake, and Hagrid had to fish him out quickly, with the large amount of farkels nearby. Then he was sent up to the castle to get warm clothes and by then the bucket of fish had tipped over into the water, and there was a whole shoal of farkels. Harry wasn't sure if this was a good thing, but Hagrid was beaming like Christmas came early, and most of Gryffindors were grinning eagerly into the water.

They walked back up to the castle for lunch. Harry was starving – breakfast felt too long ago, but he made an excuse and went back to the common room. It was empty, discarded parchment and old quills littering the tables. Harry sat on one of the comfier chairs by the fire and stared into it, hypnotised by the flickering colours.

Not for the first time in his life, he wished he wasn't an orphan. It wasn't day to day missing his parents; he had never known otherwise, so how could he miss when they didn't make him dinner or help him with homework or tuck him up to bed? It was moments like this which hit him hard, when he realised that there was a life with parents that could be so much better. He didn't want to sound selfish, but he hated not being able to go on that exchange. Why should he miss out on something just because his parents were dead? Instantly he hated himself for thinking that. But the thought had come, and now it sat, like a rock, at the back of his mind.

He stood up and pulled a piece of parchment towards him. He wanted to write to Sirius and try and put some of what he was feeling into words, but he didn't know how to start. And he wanted to sound light hearted, not like a moody teenager. Sirius would only blame himself for not being able to provide what Harry had lost. Harry shoved the parchment away just as the door banged open and a straggle of third years walked in. They looked at Harry peculiarly, and he stood up quickly and hurried out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

To Ron's loyalty, he didn't sign up for the exchange when the piece of parchment was posted on the notice board. He glanced at it then looked back at his Potions essay, feigning disinterest. There was a general flurry, and every fifth year signed up, apart from Neville, who said he was going on a herbology trip in the Alps over Christmas. Hermione got out her quill and was all ready to sign the parchment when she saw Harry's face. She put the quill down, blushing and shoved it back into her bag.

"It's fine." Harry said gruffly, trying not to let his voice give him away. "I think I'm going to stay at Snuffles' house over Christmas." He lied.

Ron looked more cheerful. "You are?" He glanced wistfully at the piece of paper.

"Just sign up Ron." Harry said again, forcing a smile. Ron scribbled his name under all the other fifth years. Harry wasn't looking forward to Christmas at Hogwarts as the only fifth year. He heard Fred and George talking loudly about how they would have liked to go on the exchange. He turned slightly so he could hear them better.

"It'll be like a holiday," George joked. "You can wind up the French people no end."  
>"Get revenge for when they came here last year." Fred said. "And all those hot French girls."<p>

Ron snorted and Hermione looked disapproving.  
>"And you'll get to miss the trip to Auntie Muriel's" George said. "I can't believe we're going to be there for two whole weeks. And over Christmas!"<p>

Harry's heart sank. So the Weasleys wouldn't be here over Christmas either. He would be stuck here with just Malfoy for company, and if he was lucky Colin Creevy. Or worse, he would have to go back to the Durselys, and watch as Dudley opened thirty different Christmas presents and snuffled his way through a massive Christmas lunch. Without saying anything, he slipped out of the portrait hole and out into the grounds. There was a chill to the air, but it woke Harry up and he welcomed it. He walked up round the lake, and then into the cluster of trees which they sat under when it was sunny. He glanced into the murky depths of the lake, but he couldn't see any Farkels, although he did see an ominous black shadow pass by. The grass was wet so his socks were sodden and he trudged back to the castle in a worse mood than he left. Just as he was reaching the entrance to the Great Hall, he heard some loud footsteps and someone shouting Harry! He turned round to see Hagrid, staggering under an enormous tree.

"Hello Harry!" He beamed. "Just dropping this tree of to Professor Sprouts' office."

He saw Harry's look. "Do you want to come over for some tea now?"  
>Harry welcomed the chance to avoid his peers for longer.<p>

"Sure." He hurried to keep up with Hagrid has he navigated the massive tree through the corridors, nearly knocking several students off their feet.

"She wants to study the growth pattern, and the easiest place was her office." Hagrid explained. "I overheard her in the staff room and offered one of the young saplings that grow in the Forbidden Forest. Usually I like to leave stuff in their habitat but Pomona's been very kind to me."

They reached Professor Sprout's office, and Hagrid knocked roughly on the oak door. Professor Sprout opened it and ushered them inside. Harry had never been in her office, and it was so different to his head of house, Professor McGonagall, office that he couldn't help but gasp.

It was on the ground floor, and one side was completely made of glass, with doors that led out onto the grounds. It was full of different plants and vines that tangled over the walls and ceiling or sat in pots, soaking up the sun. It was hot and humid and tomes about Herbology lined the few bookcases. There was a messy desk, on which rested some gardening tools and the Herbologists' Weekly, advertising new ways to water mandrakes. In the corner there was a glass cabinet full of trophies that Hufflepuff had won.

"Thank you so much Hagrid," Professor Sprout said, bustling about, clearing space for the tree. "You don't know what a help this is."

Hagrid planted the tree down, squashing some other rather frail looking plants. Professor Sprout winced, and hurried over to amend the squashed leafs and crushed flowers.

"That'll be all then Hagrid. But thank you again."

Hagrid led them both out and into the cool air. Then they walked together down to Hagrid's cabin.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn't until Harry's third cup of lukewarm tea in Hagrid's massive cup that Hagrid realised something was wrong.

"What's the matter with you now Harry?" He said over the rim of his cup, helping himself to another rock hard flapjack.

Harry just shrugged. It was easy listening to Hagrid talk about the forest and Fang and the baby unicorn, but he didn't want to talk.

"It's the exchange ain't it?" Hagrid said decidedly, leaning back in his chair smugly, so it creaked alarmingly. "The one to Beauxbatons."

Harry just nodded.

"You can't go because you haven't got anywhere for the exchange to come back to."

Harry nodded again, staring at his tea.

"You know what Harry. I think this is bloody ridiculous."

Harry glanced up, and Hagrid stared indignantly back at him.

"Why shouldn't you go on the exchange? They could always stay with me!"

Harry almost felt sorry for whichever Beauxbatons student would have to stay in the tiny cabin with Hagrid and Fang. But then he imagined himself in France with Ron and Hermione, and the feeling evaporated.

"Now I'm not making any promises." Hagrid said. "But I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore tomorrow anyway because of the coach wanted to take you there, but I'll mention your situation while I'm there, and we'll see what he has to say."

Harry's heart leapt. He felt like clouds had cleared away and the sun was shining. In fact it was; outside beams of sunshine illuminated the now crystal blue lake, the Quidditch pitch with its high spectator stands, the forest with its emerald trees. Suddenly nothing had looked more beautiful and Harry just wanted to run and skip and jump for joy.

He said goodbye to Hagrid and nearly ran up to the castle, bursting into the common room, his face flushed with the exertion. Hermione and Ron looked up and smiled when they saw him

"Hagrid's going to talk to Dumbledore! About the exchange!" He near shouted.

Ron grinned and Hermione put down her book to congratulate him.

The rest of the afternoon was hard to concentrate on. Professor Binns was as boring as ever, and even the whispering about the exchange didn't stop him. But by the end of the lesson Harry had gleaned that they would stay with the exchanges family but that there was something similar to the Yule Ball near the end of the stay. They also did some lessons with the exchanges, as well as free time. The rest Harry guessed were just rumours, like that French people liked to eat owls, and that Beauxbatons students didn't use wands. Since quite a few had come to stay just the year before, and all had wands, Harry thought this was quite a weak rumour.

After History of Magic was Herbology, and Professor Sprout gave Harry a wink as she passed him some fertiliser, probably because of this morning's tree incident. Finally the lessons were done, and Harry collected up his things and hurried to Hagrid's cabin. He knocked hard at the door, and it swung open almost immediately, like Hagrid had been waiting on the other side for him.

"Yes!" Hagrid said, excitedly. "Professor Dumbledore said yes! They're going to sort out some arrangement; either you can stay with the Weasleys or stay at Hogwarts."

Harry hugged Hagrid tight, and after a second of confusion, Hagrid hugged him back.


	5. Chapter 5

Term time passed too quickly, with exams and essays and Quidditch practise to make Harry so busy he hardly had time to think about anything else. Professor McGonagall insisted that they all learnt a little bit of French, so any spare lunch times were spent with Professor Jarmane, who actually taught Muggle studies, but was also French. While Hermione shone in French, Ron and Harry both struggled. Professor Jarmane was always cursing at them, telling them to learn their pronouns and verb endings. Even if Harry had wanted to, it would have been impossible with the stack of homework that never seemed to relent. For every piece he did, it seemed three more were set. He often didn't get to bed until midnight or later, scratching away at the parchment until he could no longer keep his eyes open. This affected his school work though. He struggled to concentrate and he couldn't do charms as effectively. He was the last person in the class able to turn a rat into a cup, and in Potions Snape just smirked at his efforts at a Draught of Living Death. Eventually, when Harry accidently turned the table pink in one particularly taxing Transfiguration lesson, Professor McGonagall came over, snatched the wand out of his hands and barked;

"If your standard of magic does not improve Mr Potter, you will have to remain here while your classmates go to France."

This was enough to silence Harry, and after skipping Divination and feigning ill during a Quidditch session, he managed to finish all his homework and get to bed on time.

It got colder through the castle, and more time was spent huddled round the common room fire than outside. Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology were freezing, and Quidditch practice had to be cancelled after George's hands were frozen to his broom. Finally, the last week of term dawned, and Harry let his homework stack up, knowing he could do it over the holidays. With this spare time he visited Hagrid nearly every day (though always making sure to eat before, never trusting any of Hagrid's cooking) and played wizard chess against Ron, who still beat him even when he was simultaneously writing an essay or translating a particularly difficult bit of Arithmency, a subject both had decided to take up this year. Eventually Hermione was persuaded to play Ron at chess, and most of Gryffindor tower gathered round to watch the battle. It was brutal, but Ron won. Hermione flushed pink; it was the first thing Ron had ever been better at than her (after Quidditch) and she didn't like it. Ron beamed as people cheered his name. Even George clapped him on the back.

"I can start telling people you're actually my brother now."

The end of term banquet was just as spectacular as always, and they went to bed past two in the morning, so full they felt sick.

The next morning Harry and Ron woke up late and went to the common room in their pyjamas. They skipped breakfast, still full from the night before, and agreed to finish their homework before the exchange, so not to have it hanging over them.

Hermione clambered through the portrait hole just as they were finishing their Charms essay, a stack of dusty tomes under her arm.

"I just got these books out for the exchange! Won't it be interesting! I got out _Beauxbatons: a Brief Biography, The History of French Magic, Escargots et Geurre _and _French Wandery. _ Do you think that'll be enough?"

Ron looked up in alarm. "If you take any more the coach won't be able to get off the ground."

"How are we getting there?" Harry said, trying to mop up the spill of ink with his wand from when Hermione set her books down.

"There's a carriage that has an extendable Charm on it, so it'll fit everyone. And then the Thestrals are pulling it."

She saw Ron and Harry staring at her. "What? Hagrid told me." And with one swish of her wand the ink was cleared up.

Professor McGonagall came in at midday, when most of the fifth years were sprawled lazily across the arm chairs, and the few other students who had remained over Christmas had gone out to get away from the constant talk of France.

"I hope you've all packed." Professor McGonagall said briskly. This was the first time Harry had seen her flustered. A strand of hair had escaped her tight grey bun.

"It's an early start and we're not waiting for anyone. And can I remind you the list of things to pack is on the notice board. And Filch has extended the list of banned items to include Fanged Frisbees."

Harry glanced at Ron, and saw he too was alarmed. Neither of them had even started packing.

"You are representing the school. We do not want to let Hogwarts down! There is a history of excellence and you must take that to France with you. Any bad behaviour will be dealt with severely."

Harry detected a hint of pride in her voice.

Professor McGonagall hurried off to deal with Seamus, and Ron looked at Harry.

"I think we need to go and pack."

Harry laughed, and plucked the list of the notice board. It was nearly a foot long, in neat printed handwriting. They nearly made it to the staircase when they heard Professor McGonagall behind them.

"And where would you be taking that Mr Potter and Mr Weasley?"

"We were just..." Harry started.

"Taking it upstairs to check we've got everything on it!" Ron said quickly. "We wouldn't want to miss anything off."

Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes and left them to hurry up the stairs to the dormitory.

"How did you come up with that one?" Harry said incredulously.

"Always the tone of surprise."

It took far longer than they expected to pack their trunks. It seemed everything had been thrown out of their trunks and scattered far and wide over the term, and the list of things they needed seemed impossibly long. Ron muttered mutinously about why they would need a quill and their copies of "Hogwarts a History" when they were meant to be on holiday, and Harry spent a good five minutes trying to work out whether his normal robes would count as dress robes if he wore them with a bright scarf. Eventually he packed both, though Ron decided to accidently forget his dress robes, which were tattered and frilly in maroon velvet.

Hermione came in when they were half way through clutching a steak and onion pasty. Harry and Ron stared longingly at it, and begged her to get one for them, now the comfortable fullness from the banquet had been replaced by hunger. She just laughed and told them they should have packed earlier.

"Harry, mate, we needed to go down to Hogsmeade to get some of this stuff." Ron said eventually, after searching the dormitory. "We just don't have a regulation wand holder or a school crest stitched onto every item of clothing. And we don't have the correct name labels either. And Hedwig haven't been registered for international travel."

Harry sighed. He could just imagine trying to explain this to Professor McGonagall.

"Why do we even need this stuff? We've never needed this before. I'm sure Dumbledore doesn't care about this."

"_Professor Dumbledore_ wants the honour of the school to be upheld." Hermione said smugly. She was now stretched out on Ron's bed, reading through her hand copy of French culture she had extracted from the library.

Harry cursed and kicked his trunk.

"Let's go down to Hogsmeade now." Ron said suddenly, looking at Harry excitedly. "We can get there and back before anyone notices." He turned to Hermione. "Especially if you cover for us."  
>She rolled her eyes, but didn't say no, so Harry grabbed his money bag and trunk and they hurried out of the dormitory. Professor McGonagall was still prowling the corridors, but Harry found her on the Maurader's Map, and they could avoid her by sneaking through the secret passage way on the sixth floor, which took them straight to the cellar of Hogsmeade. It took rather a lot of logistics to get their bulky trunks quietly up the stairs, but eventually they managed it, though the shop was rather empty and one of the shop assistants gave them an odd look.<p>

They went straight the Madame Hopkins, who sold them the name labels and crests.

"How do we stitch them on?" Ron muttered to Harry suddenly.

He shrugged. "Ask Hermione? I'm sure she knows a spell for it."  
>Madame Hopkins must have heard them, for she offered to sew them on for an extra galleon each. They readily paid them, though Ron did look worriedly down as the fat coin exchanged hands. And with a quick flick, the school crests and name badges were applied.<p>

"If I'd known it was that easy we could have done it ourselves." Ron said crossly as they bought their wand holders and finally went to the Post office.

"I'd like to register an owl for international travel." Harry said to the old witch standing behind the desk.

"Name?"

"Hedwig."

She looked up impatiently. "Your name."

"Oh. Harry."

"Date of travel?"

"Tomorrow."

"Destination?"

"France."

"That'll be nine galleons." Harry didn't have time to flinch, instead handing over the money and hurrying out of the shop so they could get back to Hogwarts.

He thought he had made it as they climbed out of the secret tunnel and hurried down the corridor, dusting off spiderwebs and dust from their robes.

"And where have you been?"

The voice filled Harry with dread, and he turned to see Professor Snape standing silhouetted against the window.


	6. Chapter 6

"I found them on the sixth floor, equipped with their trunks and an owl, packed for the exchange."

"That doesn't sound unusual," Professor McGonagall said, slightly annoyed, like Snape was just an annoying fly to swat away.

"But they were both out of breath, and had money in their pockets. Why would you take nearly ten galleons on a walk with your trunk and owl?"

"I don't have time to play detectives." Professor McGonagall retorted, turning out of the office.

"And in their pockets were bags of sweets from Honeydukes. I would like to remind you that Honeydukes was closed on the last visit to Hogsmeade due to refurbishment."  
>Professor McGonagall paused, and Harry glanced guiltily at Ron. If this was true, then they were sure to be in trouble.<p>

"And of course, I have received confirmation of their little excursion by Madame Hopkins. She confirmed they were there just ten minutes ago." Snape smirked. His final blow was his worst. How could they deny this?

"And how did they get to Hogsmeade? Apparition? I don't know if you have noticed but the entirety of the fifth year is leaving for France tomorrow. If you think that it's easy to organise than you can try! I don't have time to point fingers and follow trails of breadcrumbs across the school. Mr Potter, Mr Weasley, if you'd follow me."

She led them out of the office. Harry goggled at her. He couldn't believe their luck.

When they got a distance from Snape's office she stopped.

"I don't want to know what you were doing or how they got there." She hissed. "But I want you to have everything for the trip tomorrow and I don't want to hear from you again. Now go and get out of sight."

Harry and Ron hurried off, beaming gleefully at each other.

"I cannot believe what just happened!" Ron said, popping a golden toffee into his mouth and offering the bag to Harry. Harry took two and crammed them into his mouth so he could hardly speak for the sticky chew.

Hermione was less impressed by their tale. "You could have been thrown off the trip! And why didn't you buy the stuff before?"

Ron looked at Harry and shrugged. "Forgot."

Hermione rolled her eyes, slammed her book shut and hurried out, presumably to the library.

The evening passed slowly. Harry played wizard chess against Ron, but his concentration was so bad he was beaten even quicker and more spectacularly than usual. Eventually all the fifth years trooped upstairs to bed early, anxious and excited for the next morning.

Pale blue light infiltrated the thick curtains when Harry was awoken. He could hear Ron and Dean murmuring quietly, and Seamus getting dressed. He felt a thrill of excitement for the upcoming Christmas. Then he had to roll out of bed and get ready, bleary eyed. He didn't bother try and smooth down his hair, but later Professor McGonagall did, inspecting to make sure that they were all presentable. She flicked her wand and it was slicked to his head. Ron sniggered, until Professor McGonagall used a particularly vicious spell to tighten his red and yellow striped tie.

The other houses filed out minutes later, and the whole of fifth year assembled outside the Grand Entrance, armed with birds or cats and trunks. Harry was looking at the sky and Ron at the lake, both remembering the Beauxbaton's and Durmstrang's dramatic entrances last year. The mystery was solved with large crimson and gold carriages, pulled by thestrals. Hagrid led them proudly, opening the doors and helping pupils in, hoisting their trunks into another larger carriage pulled by a whole pack of thestrals.

Harry ended up in a carriage with Ron, but no Hermione, who got separated when Professor Sprout said that she was doing a trunk inspection. Next to him was Ernie MacMillan, a pompous Hufflepuff, and on the seats opposite were Padma Patil, Luna Lovegood and Lavender. There were no teachers, so they had a raucous journey. Although there were velvet curtains for the windows, they far preferred to look down at the disappearing countryside. They watched as the castle disappeared into the distance and the river a trickle. Green rushed beneath them, and there was a feeling of safety in the regular beat of the thestrals wings.

Harry and Ron shared round the last of their sweets, and Padma showed useful by producing several bottles of Butterbeer. They drank them thirstily, along with pumpkin pasties which they had taken from breakfast, and Ernie's large stash of chocolate frogs. They chatted loudly about the trip and lessons and teachers and Quidditch. When they were truly hysteric with laughter they sang wizard songs, of which Harry knew none and Ron knew all. Harry hadn't felt happier for a long time.

Suddenly Lavender squealed. "We're descending!"

Harry looked out of the window. It was true; the ground was rushing up closer to them, and he could see another of the gold carriages in the distance. Soon they were close enough to see the trees then the houses. They seemed to be getting faster and Harry wondered how good thestrals were at stopping. He needn't have worried; the seemed to float down and the door swung open. They clambered out and looked around. There were a couple of carriages in the large field they had landed in, and as they had got out another had landed.

People were clambering out of the carriages and Hermione came running over, looking red in the face.

"I got stuck in a carriage with two Slytherins and Damond Kinkerry."

Damond Kinkerry was a particularly large Hufflepuff, who loved eating and exploring his nose and ears with his fingers. And, much to Harry and Ron's amusement, he had a crush on Hermione.

"He spent the whole time picking his nose and telling me how much he loved me." Hermione shuddered, looking over her shoulder. Luckily Damond was quite slow, and obviously hadn't even noticed Hermione had disappeared.

The last coach had landed, and Professor McGonagall stepped out curtly, looking very composed. Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick followed. Snape, Harry noticed, was the only head of house that hadn't come.

There was a lot of muttering, with Professor McGonagall talking animatedly and checking some sort of instrument. Then she turned to face the crowd of bewildered fifth forms.

"There has been a miscalculation with the landing point. Beauxbaton's Academy of magic is six miles away. Unfortunately we cannot get there by carriage, so we will be travelling the last part of the journey on foot."

There was a loud grumble. Six miles wasn't far to walk, but when you had a heavy trunk, and had got up too early and were too nervous to eat, it seemed a fair distance.

Without waiting for any complaints, Professor McGonagall started walking briskly towards the dark forest that loomed. There was a scramble to grab trunks from the large carriage, and then the followed on, taking a winding path into the woods.


	7. Chapter 7

"Do you think this is the right way?" Ron grumbled, as they traversed a particularly steep hill.

"Of course it is Ronald!" Hermione snapped loose hairs plastered to her face with sweat. "Do you think Professor McGonagall would lead us on a wild goose chase?"

"Yes." Ron whispered under his breath, but he was too exhausted to argue properly. When Professor McGonagall said six miles, she had failed to mention that Beauxbatons Academy was in the middle of the Pyrenees. And even if she had, Harry wouldn't have known, for the geography lessons he did do back when he was eleven, he flunked. He had no idea that Beauxbatons was situated in the middle of a mountain range.

They stopped for a rest, their trunks strewn across the mountain footpath, crashing in the scratchy heather. Harry wasn't sure how different France felt to England, but there were incredible views, and the air was fresh and fragrant with the alpine fauna. Someone was passing round ice cold pumpkin juice, and Harry took a cup and glugged it down quickly, sticking his cup out for more. When this was drunk he lay back and tried to ignore his throbbing legs. It felt like a long time since the carriage journey; in fact it was nearly three hours. Some sandwiches were handed out, but they were nothing compared to the feasts at Hogwarts. Harry could imagine them now; roast chicken and pork pie and potatoes. Then treacle tart or chocolate cake or apple crumble with thick cream.

"Just imagine what the food will be like at Beauxbatons." Ron said, breaking the silence.

"What do the French even eat?" Harry said the question so important he sat up.

"Snails and frogs legs." Dean said, grinning. "And lots of baguette."

"Don't be stupid." Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "They just have food like ours. But they like patisserie."

"When I was in France we had loads of stews. And crepes!" Padma's eyes lit up at the thought. "With chocolate sauce and vanilla ice cream."

The group fell silent, imagining the taste and for a moment Harry wished he had been to France. Or at least on holiday. The Dursley's didn't often leave Privet Drive, and when they did they would leave him with Mrs Figg. There had been a residential trip when Harry was in Primary school, but the Dursley's refused to pay the fifty pound fee, and Harry didn't have any good friends at school anyway, so spending a week in a forest camping didn't sound very inviting. And now, five years later, he was in France with his two best friends and a group of other friends, able to do magic and away from the Dursley's. He couldn't believe how much his life had changed.

The sun came out and with a boost of morale they surged over the peak of the mountain. And there, glittering in the valley was Beauxbatons Academy.

It was a massive castle, white in colour, with rolling grounds spread out in every direction. Pastel flowers and soft landscaping made a harsh contrast to the jagged mountains, but even from here Harry could make out students in their powder blue uniform, making their way about the grounds peacefully. After that it was easier, and they made quick progress to the castle. Harry's feet were aching, and his shoes were giving him bad blisters. Luckily they weren't wearing school robes, but Hedwig's cage was bulky and Hedwig kept squawking and shuffling around, so it was a relief when the ground flattened out and the grass was short and kempt. They followed the neat drive up to the castle. Harry couldn't help but look around in awe. It was so different from Hogwarts. Hogwarts was a traditional English castle, with rolling hills and grey stormy skies and wild grounds. Beauxbatons was a pretty French chateau, with fountains and golden sun. Harry could see why the Beauxbatons students didn't like Hogwarts.

A tall woman hurried out to meet them. Harry instantly recognised her as Madam Maxime. She was followed by a cohort of students; five girls and five boys, all immaturely turned out. Harry couldn't help but feel embarrassed by their muddy jeans, sweaty faces and the sprigs of heather caught in their hair.

"Professor McGonagall!" Madam Maxime called out, stooping down to kiss her on both cheeks. "We thought you would be with us hours ago!"

"There was an issue with the transport. We had to walk the last bit." Professor McGonagall said, snapping a little.

"You should have contacted us. We could have sent out some horses and carriages." Madame Maxime said, either oblivious to Professor McGonagall's hostility or deciding to ignore it. "But you are here now. Come, we will show you to your hosts."


	8. Chapter 8

The students who had followed Madame Maxime helped with them with their trunks. A particularly young looking girl with long auburn hair, who reminded Harry of Ginny, took Hedwig's cage.

People stopped and stared as they made their way into the impressive hall. It was very light and airy, with powder blue banners with the gold school crests and a thick carpet. Two swooping stairs led high up to floors above, but they were led through to what Harry could only guess was the Grand Hall.

The benches had been cleared away, and two neat lines of students were waiting.

Madame Maxime produced a large piece of parchment. "The exchanges." She said, gesturing grandly.

It reminded Harry of being sorted all over again. First Madame Maxime called out one of the Hogwarts pupils, and then the name of a Beauxbatons pupil, who hurried forward to meet their guest French style – two kisses on the cheek if it were a girl, and a kiss on the hand if it were a boy.

Harry watched as his friends were matched up. To his delight Draco was paired with a tall strong boy with large glasses and wonky teeth, who looked distinctly uninteresting. Hermione was paired with a tall thin girl and Ron with a short but stocky boy. Finally Madame Maxime called out his name.

"Harry Potter! Pierre DeCausier!" A boy with short brown hair hurried forward and shook Harry's hand.

"Bonjour. Welcome to Beauxbatons." Harry noticed the look of curiosity he got from many of the students, and he felt eyes raking his forehead, but he ignored it. Today wasn't going to be ruined.

Finally everyone had an exchange, and they were making timid introductions.

"You will be staying for two nights in the castle." Madame Maxime announced, her loud voice carrying easily. "Then you will return to your exchanges home over Christmas. And after Christmas you will return back for the castle for celebrations of the New Year." She turned to talk to Professor McGonagall, so Harry had time to talk to Pierre.

"There's going to be a ball." He said. He voice was surprisingly soft, and his English impeccable, with just a slight hint of a French accent. "For New Year."

Harry smiled. "Like the Yule Ball."

Pierre nodded. "But if it is possible, even better."

It didn't take long for Harry to like Pierre. He took him to the dormitories where Harry cleaned up and then put on his Hogwarts robes (Professor McGonagall insisted). Then he showed him round the castle, from the large library and dining hall to the Quidditch pitch and greenhouses. People greeted him as they passed; either Pierre was very popular or everyone here very friendly.

They chatted about Quidditch and lessons and teachers, and they were able to laugh about Harry's poor French. Harry spotted Ron on his tour, but he didn't look quite as happy with his partner, who was called Henry.

They went for dinner, and Harry's confusion was solved. They were served food not dissimilar to Hogwarts, though there were multiple dishes that Harry had never had before, all of which he liked, especially coq au vin and chocolate soufflé.

"I will tell my Mum that you like them, and we can have them at Christmas." Pierre said, smiling.

Harry didn't see Hermione over dinner, or afterwards when they went down to the grounds with Ron and Henry and Dean and his exchange. It was magical; the dark sky was starry and fireflies lit the sky. They walked down to a lake and it though it was freezing, they paddled in the moonlight. Harry could get used to it.

The source of Hermione's absence was discovered when they went back up to the castle, minutes before curfew. They passed the library, and Harry saw them both, sitting side by side in a furious discussion, jabbing at books and scripts that covered the table. It was in half French and half English and Harry watched in amazement as they argued. He only got fragments, but he heard 'goblin wars' and 'forced labour'. He shook his head with astonishment and shrugged at Pierre.

"Elle is always like that." Pierre said.

"Hermione too. She spends most her life in the library." Harry said.

"Then they couldn't have found a more perfect match." Pierre said.

The fifth year Beauxbatons boys were split into three dormitories, but extra beds had been added for the exchanges. There was a silence in the castle, and Harry fell asleep quickly, waking only when sunlight streamed through the bathroom.

They spent most of the morning in the dining hall. Pierre was amazed that Harry had never had patisseries, so decided to educate him in puff pastry. Harry tried croissant (chocolate, almond and raspberry), pain au chocolat, brioche and apricot slices. Then they had baguette dunked in hot chocolate and fresh fruit.

"I prefer sausage and eggs." Ron muttered darkly. He hadn't slept well – apparently Henry snored badly.

That afternoon lessons had been rescheduled – apparently part of the cultural experience was doing lessons, so Harry had to get out of his holiday mood and pull his quill, books and ink out of the bottom of his trunk. Then he trailed after Pierre to Potions.

Harry couldn't believe how much he enjoyed Potions. Without Snape it was always going to be better, but instead of simply writing the instructions on the board and waiting for them to fail or make a substandard potion, the teacher (who was a squat jolly man called Monsieur Grennien) talked them through step by step, discussing the ingredients and let them experiment to try and improve the potion and tweak it them for themselves. When Harry's cauldron exploded, Monsieur Grennien simply laughed, and with a swish of his wand the mess was cleared. Then he showed Harry what he had done wrong and showed him how to improve. The stress Harry usually felt during Potions had disappeared, and he left the light and airy Potions classroom feeling satisfied and relaxed. Ron must have felt the same way, because he was in a much better mood. He had managed to lose Henry, and walked to their next lesson, Charms with Harry and Pierre.

They were doing a difficult spell – the freezing charm, which Harry hadn't done yet. The charms teacher was not as nice as Monsieur Grennien, but Harry still managed to freeze a small bug. Professor McGonagall, who had appeared to observe the lesson, even sniffed with approval. Of course, the teachers loved Hermione, who was competing fiercely with Elle. Harry thought their relationship seemed a bit stressful, but Hermione seemed to be enjoying it. They left the classroom still arguing about the correct wand movement for the freezing charm. Their final lesson was Amalgamation, which they didn't have at Hogwarts. Hermione was bursting with excitement, but luckily it wasn't anything too different; more a mix of Care of Magical Creates and Transfiguration. They did some revision in the lesson, which was more boring, but Harry relearned how to enlarge a mouse, which he had done, but had since forgotten.

The next day was the last day at Beauxbatons before Harry went back to Pierre's. He wouldn't see his friends for two weeks, when they reconvened back at Beauxbatons. They had two lessons in the morning; Natural Magic, which involved a batty teacher taking them on a long ramble through the mountains while muttering loudly in French, occasionally stopping to make them identify something in their handbooks before hurrying on. It was a glorious day; that sunny yet slightly frosty air which gave you enough energy to walk, but kept you warm, with the sun on your face. Then they had Ancient Runes. Harry hadn't opted for this at Hogwarts, and while he watched Hermione compete fiercely with Elle, he stared lazily out of the window, not even bothering to try and translate the squiggles in the book in front of him. Ron look equally bewildered, and they spent most of the lesson passing notes until Professor McGonagall flicked it towards her, looked at the picture of a troll in a tutu and evaporated the scrap immediately, not even looking their way. Harry and Ron exchanged startled looks and pretended to try and translate the runes.

Pierre was pacing excitedly outside. He had lost his powder blue uniform and hat for jeans and a T-Shirt boasting a French band. His trunk was packed, but he did it much more quickly, much to Harry's annoyance. Elle and Hermione had already disappeared, collected by two tall slim parents, with Elle's long fluffy blonde hair and large blue eyes. And her love of books, if the back of the car was anything to go by; stacked high with old classics. Then Ron and Henry left, by broom, their trunks balanced precariously at the back. And now Harry and Pierre were waiting for his parents, who apparently were arriving by air.

When Pierre said this, Harry had imagined a broom, which he was glad about; he was a natural at Quidditch and felt as comfortable on a broom as walking on his own two feet. So he couldn't believe his eyes when two black spots seemed to drop from the sky. They got bigger and bigger, and they definitely weren't the thin streamlined shape of a broom. Harry could make out a wing here, a claw there. It was only when they landed did he finally identify them. Two large dragons.


	9. Chapter 9

They were deep crimson in colour, with majestic amber eyes and long scaly tails. And sitting on the back were two muscular men, one older than the other, both with Pierre's cheeky grin and brown hair.

"Pierre?" One of them called out. Pierre was already scrambling on the back of the slightly smaller dragon.

"Come on Harry!" He called. Harry just shrugged and grabbed the hand of the man sitting on the other dragon and scrambled up ungracefully.

"What about our trunks?"

The younger man grabbed them both and strapped them in front of him. The dragon didn't seem to mind the extra burden.

"Costa." The older man, who was sitting in front of Harry, said, sticking out a tanned hand. It was rough and calloused and there were scars from burns. "And that's Res."

"Harry."

He nodded, and kicked his heels into the scaly hide of the dragon. Surprisingly smoothly, the dragon took off, spiralling up into the sky. The beat of his wings was uneven and made it much harder to balance than a broom, but Costa grabbed hold of Harry and kept him steady until he had got himself sorted. Harry looked down and gasped. It was incredible. He felt so free, soaring up in the sky and looking down at the mountains below. It was freezing and he was soaked from the cloud vapour, but he couldn't help but whooping into the air whooshing past. Nobody could hear him; the roar of the wind was too loud. Not even Costa, who was only a metre in front. Harry couldn't keep the grin off his face.

They started descending too soon. But it was a lot less relaxing than the carriages. The dragons circled and then dropped alarmingly fast. Costa seemed to be gently changing the path, but it didn't seem very successful. They finally hit the ground in a paddock. This was too much for Harry, who slipped off the back, and landed painfully on the ground with a thump. Luckily there was thick grass, so nothing was broken, but the dragon then swished its tail in Harry's face, resulting in a painful cut. Costa slid off once the dragon was settled and helped Harry up.

"You alright?"

Harry nodded, wiping the blood of his face. He could feel Costa looking at the scar on his head, but he didn't say anything. Costa turned to help Res with the trunks and Pierre ran over to Harry.

"It's amazing! Isn't it?" Pierre said, gasping. "That's the first time I was allowed!"

Harry tried to look like he understood. "I thought dragons were illegal."

"In England, yes." Pierre said. "But here, no."

Res and Costa were already hurrying up and round a mountain, the dragons padding along slowly beside them and Pierre started following them.

"In fact, that's why we live miles out here, where there's natural protection from the mountains and lots of fresh air."

"Why?" Harry said curiously.

They turned a bend in the path and then Harry saw why.

There was a whole complex of paddocks and one storey huts, all made of wood. In the distance, the only thing sticking out of the valley floor was a house, which reminded Harry of the Burrow in its height and apparent unstableness. There was a flurry of movement below them, and Harry could make out people and more unsettlingly, dragons. Harry thought at first it was a dragon sanctuary, like the one Charlie ran in Bulgaria, but as he squinted closer, he could see other creatures, like those he had studied patchily with Hagrid.

"Welcome to Highcross Menagerie!" Pierre said proudly.


	10. Chapter 10

Pierre skipped gracefully down the mountain, and Harry followed him, puffing hard. Costa and Res were already specks in the distance, though they had the trunks to carry and the dragons to lead, which could only have hindered their bronze muscles. Pierre reached the bottom with no trouble and Harry wished that he did more sport – apart from Quidditch Hogwarts didn't do much. Then Pierre was weaving through the paddocks, ducking under fences and calling out greetings to the people working, and Harry hurried after him trying to keep up. Pierre was obviously popular, for the workers all stopped and waved or called out in French. A few asked after him, and Pierre would reply in French. Harry could feel their gaze long after they had left the paddock. It was hard to follow Pierre, because Harry was so busy looking at everything that was going on around him; majestic griffins were being scrubbed with a potion that seemed to shimmer in the light; Blast-ended skrewts, which Harry had thought he was free of after last year's disastrous Care of Magical Creatures lessons, were being led around a field in a perverse funeral march. They passed barns full of Bowtruckles and pixies. Harry recognised the electric blue ones as Cornish pixies, but there were some pea green, smaller ones he didn't know.

It was incredible, and unlike anything Harry had ever seen before. He was so busy glancing this way and that he nearly walked into Pierre, who had stopped to talk to a girl, maybe a year older than them, who was feeding a baby unicorn. They were talking in French, so Harry didn't try and follow the conversation. Instead he watched the unicorn suck on the bottle. He had seen baby unicorns before, but never this close. Its hide shone gold and its eyes were scrunched shut as it tugged on the bottle. Pierre finally turned back to Harry.

"This is Via." He said, gesturing to the very pretty girl.

"Via this is Harry." Via smiled at Harry.

"Bonjour and welcome to Highcross."

Harry smiled, trying not to feel uncomfortable, for she was staring at his forehead. Self-consciously he pushed his fringe back, which was sticky with sweat.

Pierre waved goodbye to Via and lead Harry on, towards the house. The door was open and the smell of cooking onions filled the air. Inside was blissfully cool and shady. It took Harry a moment to adjust to the dark room, but when he did he was amazed. There was stuff everywhere. Piles of newspapers and magazines were cascading off the table and there were plates and cutlery balanced haphazardly on the stools that were positioned seemingly randomly throughout the room. The walls were painted bright clashing colours and small windows dotted the walls, letting the bright light shine through in interesting patterns. It reminded Harry somewhat of the Burrow.

"Mama! Papa!" Pierre shouted. There was a crash from upstairs and then the sound of loud footsteps on the stairs before a small door Harry hadn't noticed burst open. A thin woman who looked like Pierre, her chestnut hair in a messy bun and a paint-splattered apron over a simple blouse and skirt, stood in the doorway.

"Pierre!" She hugged him. "Harry!" She hugged Harry too. "Welcome! Pardon for the- the..." she trailed off to find the right word. "Craziness!" Her accent was thick, and Harry struggled to understand.

There was some more noise from upstairs, and a young woman came down, nearly tripping on the stairs. She had blonde wavy hair and blue eyes, and pale creamy skin, but yet Harry felt like he recognised her. Like he'd seen her before. He looked at her closer as she crossed the room.

"Wotcha Harry!"

"Tonks?" He asked tentatively.

Suddenly the woman in front of him morphed, her features twisting to make the face Harry recognised, with the purple spiky hair that was Tonks' trademark.

"What are you doing here?" He said, trying not to sound rude.

She screwed up her face and morphed back to the blonde lady. "Looking out for you. Dumbledore sent me."

"Dumbledore did?" Harry said. He could hear the stroppiness in his voice, but he didn't apologise.

"You think he'd just let you wander the French countryside alone? Now that Voldemort's back?"

Although Pierre and his Mother were not really following the conversation, they both winced when they heard his name.

Harry tried not to shout. This was his trip. He had finally been allowed to go and now he was being babysat. What did they think he was going to do? He just wanted to be a normal teenager.

"Don't worry Harry." Tonks said, sensing his annoyance. Although she was clumsy and loud, she was very good at picking up emotions from body language. "I'll keep out of the way. It was just a precaution."

Harry nodded and tried to smile. It wasn't Tonks fault – he mustn't blame her.

"Just remember to call me Beth. I'm here to study dragons."

Harry nodded again, and sensing a break in the conversation, Pierre grabbed his arm.

"Let me show you around!"


	11. Chapter 11

First Pierre dragged him round the house, showing him the even messier kitchen, where Carlos was boiling some milk for a baby snake, who was curled up on the navy AGA. Then there was the living room and the bathrooms and his brothers' rooms. Harry had already met Carlos and Res, but Pierre had two sisters; one older, called Jean, and one younger, called Mia. But they were out looking after the animals, and Harry only got a fleeting glance of their rooms – Jean's which was all pink and Mia's which was dark, with washing lines with photos clipped up, drying – before he was tugged on to Pierre's room. It was painted red, and all the walls were covered with photos. Most were of the family and the animals but there were also newspaper clippings about sports events and postcards, collected over the years.

"Do you like it?"

Harry nodded. It was so different to his tiny room at the Dursley's. It was reasonably tidy, and there was a low camp bed, presumably for Harry, and in the corner was a box filled with straw, where a dragon's egg (Harry recognised it from his first year at Hogwarts, when Hagrid had bartered one and hatched it himself) was sitting.

"It should hatch in the next couple of weeks." Pierre said, lifting the egg out carefully. "Usually we put them in the barn, but this one was much smaller than the rest, so I brought it up here in the warm."  
>It didn't look small to Harry – it was bigger than his head, and was warm. The shell was thick and pale blue in colour, with the lightest dappling. Pierre returned it to the box.<p>

"Let me show you the proper dragons."

He led the way back out of the house and through the paddocks.

"We do all creatures, but this is mainly a dragon sanctuary. All the people who work here live over there," he said, gesturing to a large spread of cabins near the perimeter of the sanctuary. "There's about fifty, and forty of them work only with the dragons." They scrambled over the fences. "We help pretty much everywhere," Pierre said. "It's always a bit crazy, but where would the fun be if it wasn't?"

They reached the barn. Harry had originally thought it was made of wood, but when he got closer he saw it was a different material.

"Reinforced Astrad." Pierre said. "My Papa designed it. It's made of this rock that came from comets. He infused it with potions of strength and fire resistance to make a perfect material to look after dragons with. We're the sanctuary in the world with it." There was a strong note of pride in his voice. Harry knocked on it. It felt sturdy under his hand. But Pierre was already pushing open the gate to the barn. Harry followed him inside. It was surprisingly light and airy, though was an overpowering smell of dragon dung. It reminded Harry of the stables Muggles have; there were booths that separated up the massive room, and in each one was a dragon.

"Of course these are just babies." Pierre said nonchalantly. "When they get too big they're usually taken to Bulgaria. But we have a few full grown ones here."

Harry remembered Charlie Weasley, who worked in Romania.

"These are Hungarian Horntails." Pierre started, leading him round the stalls. Harry peeked in to see the horned gnarled creatures, bringing back bad memories of the Triwizard Tournament. Despite his history with dragons, he had to admit the young ones were very cute. They saw the Romanian Longhorn and the Common Welsh Green. Then there were the Norwegian Ridgebacks and the Peruvian Vipertooth. Pierre gave a short history for each species, but Harry let his mind wander, watching the helpers cleaning out the cages, playing with the dragons, taking them out to the paddock and clipping their long claws.

"They don't breathe fire when they're very young." Pierre said when he saw Harry watching one helper play wrestling with a dragon. The dragon snorted out a tiny flame. "Well, not much."

Pierre handed Harry a large bucket of lumps of raw steak.

"Just throw it in." He said cheerfully, taking a bucket for himself and plunging his hand into the gooey flesh. Harry couldn't help but wrinkle his nose has he gingerly dipped his hand into the sticky steak. He grabbed one quickly and, trying to minimise the amount of time it was in his hand, threw it into the pen. The orangey red dragon that seemed asleep was on the raw steak before Harry had time to blink. In a snuffling sound, the steak had disappeared. Harry couldn't help but laugh with disbelief. Pierre smirked at Harry's reaction.

"That's why we have a lot of steak." He said, grabbing another handful and tossing it lazily into the other stalls. The dragons ate quickly. Harry couldn't help but think how much Hagrid would love it there.

That night Harry and Pierre helped prepare a large picnic with Pierre's Mum and Tonks. Pierre's Mother seemed to have forgotten she could use magic, and Tonks seemed to enjoy doing it 'the Muggle way', so they cut up crusty baguette, sliced cheese, and baked fairy cakes by hand. Harry didn't think cooking would be fun, but the Dursley's would never let him near the oven, and all the meals at Hogwarts were pre-prepared. This was the first time he had ever baked, and Pierre laughed at his innocent excitement when the fairy cakes came out golden brown and smelling delicious.

Pierre had mentioned his siblings, but Harry hadn't realised how large his family was before they set off on the picnic. As well as Pierre and his parents, and Carlos and Res, there were twin girls, who were dressed in blue denim dungarees and barefoot, a little boy who toddled round cuddling a pygmy puff, an older girl carried the picnic, and a large group of other people Harry struggled to identify. When he mentioned this to Pierre, he laughed.

"They're not all my siblings! Most of them work here. And a few are friends or relatives."

He pointed out his siblings. "The twins – Jess an Iris and James," he pointed at the little boy. "And of course Carlos and Res. But the rest work here."

They walked for a while, up a mountain path. Harry couldn't help but feel excited. He felt a little embarrassed that he was fifteen and was looking forward to a picnic, but it was another thing the Dursley's had never taken him on, and there hadn't been an opportunity for one at Hogwarts.

Eventually they reached a flat rock ledge that jutted out the side of the mountain. It was warm from the day's sunshine, and large enough for everyone to sit comfortably. Pierre's Mother spread out the picnic, and got out tall flutes that she filled with champagne, even for the James, who couldn't have been more than three. Harry sipped it, but didn't like it much; it was too bubbly, and was surprisingly bitter. But he feasted on the sandwiches and crisps and fairy cakes, and the lemon tart and soufflés they had somehow managed to transport. The stars were bright above them, and the chatter amiable. Harry and Pierre sat with their legs dangling off the rock ledge, looking over the vast panorama beneath them. Harry had never felt more peaceful.

Time passed quickly at Highcross. They woke up early to have breakfast, which was pastries and orange juice, before helping muck out the stalls or feed the animals. One day they hiked up to the top of the mountain, and another Pierre showed Harry a lake where they went fishing and then swimming in their boxers. It was like the traditional upbringing that Harry never had. Pierre's Father read the French paper in the morning, and Pierre's Mother baked cakes and tarts. They went on long rambles and Pierre pointed out the wild flowers and they picked raspberries until they felt sick. One day Harry was even invited to ride a Hippogriff, though he didn't want to be rude and say he had already done it two years ago, when flying a convicted murder to safety. It was still exhilarating, and Harry marvelled at the view when they were so high that the houses were just dots. There were no houses for miles around Highcross; just forest and a river that twined into the distance.

Harry didn't even notice Tonks. They ate their meals together, but apart from that, he only saw her in the distance. She seemed in her element dealing with the animals, where her clumsiness didn't get her into trouble. Harry had a suspicion that she asked to be Harry's supervisor when she heard it was a sanctuary, but he couldn't be sure.

The chaos slowly became Christmas themed, with Res and Carlos dragging in a Christmas tree, and shiny presents slowly beginning to pile up at the base. The smell of cinnamon and raisins drifted through the house permanently, and the radio was stuck on Christmas carols.


	12. Chapter 12

It snowed thick and heavily on Christmas Eve, and there was a mad rush to get all the creatures in to the warm and make sure they were well fed. They were shaken awake near midnight to help shovel snow off the salamander shed, and then help build a fire to keep them warm. Although Pierre apologised profusely for the interruption, Harry enjoyed it. The problems and chaos were worked through together, as a family; an experience Harry had not truly had.

Harry woke early the next morning, a pile of presents even bigger than usual perched at the end of his bed. He was itching to open them, but guessed it would be more polite to wait for Pierre before ripping them open. He didn't have to wait long – Pierre woke, as usual, early and they opened their presents. Harry was grateful that Pierre's parents had got him some presents – without them his pile would have been small as he had already exchanged presents with Ron and Hermione. But they had bought him some French chocolates, a box of French sugar roses, a tiny model of a griffin that moved and flew a little, his own dragon hide gloves and some broomstick clippers. He thanked them profusely using his limited French. "Merci! Merci mademoiselle et monsieur. Merci!"

"It's a pleasure." Pierre's Mother smiled, pulling a steaming goose out of the oven. "You have been a fantastic guest."

It ended up being the best Christmas Harry had ever had. While not as good as the Hogwarts feast in terms of size, it was an entirely new cuisine. There was goose instead of turkey, little beans called mangetout, a marzipan cake and boiled potatoes with fresh salad. Harry tucked in enthusiastically, reading out the little joke and playing with the fake wand he got in his cracker. Pierre's family was even larger than the Weasley's once you had added Harry, Tonks and one of the older workers who didn't have any more family, but they managed to cram in comfortably.

There was a tradition of holding a party for all the stable hands at Highcross, so the dinner was cleared up quickly to make space for a massive Christmas cake, glasses of champagne and Firewhisky and plates of little cakes Pierre called Petit Fours. Then a huge crowd of people trudged in, shouting out cries of Merry Christmas and taking swigs of alcohol. The party soon became rowdy and loud, music pumping out of the radio, roars of laughter filling the air. A dance started up; the table was moved and everyone pressed against the wall in fear of getting trampled. It was a fast dance, not one Harry had ever seen before, and not one he particularly wanted to mess up in front of everyone. It involved lots of swapping partners and changing directions with confusing hand gestures and claps seemingly random. But Pierre had other ideas. Pulling Harry into the centre, he started whirling around, pulling Harry with me.

"Just copy!" He shouted of the noise.

Harry tried his best, tripping over his own feet and then other peoples. He ran the wrong way and was pushed back by an old woman. A man started trying to spin him before he fell over. He trod on a young girls foot and she started crying. It was terrible. Even worse than the Yule Ball.

Eventually Pierre took pity on him and pulled him out.

"We will need to work on that." He said jokingly. "It is the French national dance. And when you go home you will be perfect."

"Good luck to you." Harry said, taking a deep swig of Firewhisky, letting it burn his throat and warm his inside.

"Don't drink that." Pierre said, wrinkling his nose. "We only bought it because you were coming. Try this." He thrust Harry a champagne flute full of a golden bubbling liquid. Harry sipped it cautiously. It was sweet and delicious, and the bubbles tickled his throat. It was soothing yet daring, toungue-tingling, hair-raising.

"What is it?" Harry gasped glugging the entire glass.

"Sweetgrass Mead. We make it here."

Harry reached for another glass.

"I'd be careful. It's pretty strong." Pierre said, frowning a little. Harry ignored him, drinking the next glass even quicker.

"But it's amazing."  
>Pierre smiled. "Thank you."<p>

Harry lay in bed joyously happy, the warm feeling in his stomach from the mead and the sense of belonging that he had at Highcross. He felt he was truly welcome here. Every morning he woke with a thrill of excitement at the day's challenges and experiences. He had only ever pretended to like Care of Magical Creatures for Hagrid's sake, but suddenly he could imagine doing something like this for the rest of his life. Before his only career option had been an Auror – at least that was the only thing that had appealed to him and his skill set, but the idea of a life at Highcross was fantastic. He was behind Pierre's family by a long way – they handled the creatures with a skill only those raised around them could have, but Harry was learning fast. Already he was trusted to put the Porlocks to bed, and he fed the dragons with Pierre. Harry made a resolution to ask Pierre in the morning. Maybe he could come here over the summer? The very thought excited him.

Harry was woken by shouts downstairs. He opened his eyes, disorientated. It was still dark outside, but the party must have finished. Pierre sat up, his face worried.

"Shall we go?"  
>Harry nodded, and swung out of bed. It was cold now the fire had died down, and he pulled his scratchy sweater over his head before racing downstairs after Pierre.<p>

The lights were on in the kitchen, and all of Pierre's family were awake, standing around something. Harry pushed past to see what they were staring at.

There, wearing his distinctive maroon jumper, a large 'R' knitted on the front, was Ron. Blood poured from somewhere, covering his drawn and white face.

"Harry!" He croaked. "Harry?"

"Ron!" Harry said, throwing himself to Ron's side. "What's going on? What's happened?"

"He's coming!"

Then Ron fainted.


End file.
